


Welcome to Chrysopolis

by dr_zook



Series: West-Eastern Diwan [2]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: 10th Century, Crossover, First Meetings, grapes, the varangian guard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24420046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook/pseuds/dr_zook
Summary: The Varangian Guard hits the shores of Chrysopolis.
Series: West-Eastern Diwan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763500
Kudos: 8





	Welcome to Chrysopolis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daegaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/gifts).



> Prompt was: _How about a crossover between Greek and Norse mythology? When the Varangian guard come to Constantinople, does it wake the Greek pantheon up?_

"I heard they're from the far north."  
  
"From Hyperborea?" The huntress' face lights up. Its southern border, the vast forests of endless mist and needle wood, full of proud beasts and ancient green are well embedded into her heart.  
  
"Well, they don't exactly look _untouched by war and hard toil_ if you asked me." Dionysos takes a sip from his silver cup.   
  
"Who are they?"  
  
"They do remind me of those men from even farther north," Hermes admits. The toenails of his right foot scratch the back of his left calf. "They look quite fit. But I doubt those thick, fur-trimmed cloaks are any good here."  
  
"I like their air of… aggression. Look at their frowns and, oh-- do they wield axes?" Ares' eyes gleam with excitement, his pulse quickens visibly.  
  
"Aren't those men the gift from the most recent king of the Eastern slave cult?" Dionysos yawns. "They don't bear any signs of the tiny fish priest, though." Squinting he slides towards the edge of his seat. "I like their ruby studs, nice touch. And that long, wild hair." He even gnarls slightly.  
  
The god of war fiddles lazily with his second favourite dagger. "They don't look like those fish slave bureaucrats at all," he rumbles.   
  
"No," Dionysos agrees, watching the foreign warriors settle their camp beyond the strait the big city looms over. They are about 6,000 men, plus an entourage of the usual followers, whores, and adventure-seekers. "Oh, look: they do carry around those crossed sticks, but I think their… hearts aren't with their fish priest." You can sense it in the air around them, in the earth they set their tents upon.   
  
"We just have to wait and see," Artemis says. "Watch them, then we'll know whom they pray to."  
  
Dionysos snorts. "As far as I am concerned I don't care as long as they drink my wine. The fish priests do, I like that. Actually, almost everybody does, so I'm fine, really." He reclines a bit, watching the scene unfold.  
  
In fact, one of them who looks and behaves like their leader, eventually gathers some of his men around and delivers a speech. A slave brings a skin of the local wine, and before one can mix it properly with water the leader snags it from his hands exasperated, and pours some into his rather long and big horn.  
  
"Uh," Ares says warily, "I'm not sure that's a good idea." A krater is nowhere to be seen.   
  
Dionysos slaps his back good-naturedly. "I like where this is going!"  
  
The Northman raises the horn above his head and his resounding voice booms across the camp, with the final words: "We're sacrificing the enemies of our king in your name, Oden! Take the ones worthy to fight for you at the end of this age! Let the rest rot to shit for Loki's Daughter! Mighty Thor, look at us kindly. Although we are far from home, grant us your power! For Victory!!"  
  
As soon as the wine from the horn hits the earth beneath the warrior's feet black wings flap busily between the onlooking gods, and in their midst three figures appear, a hue of mist gliding down their bodies: an old one-eyed, and grey-haired man wielding a wanderer's stave. A bulky, beardy man full of might and muscle, his hair is reddish-brown, and he clasps a huge hammer. The third is a sly-looking, slender-faced man with red leather boots; a wrinkle in his upper lip bars a golden eyetooth.  
  
"Oh," Artemis breathes, an arrow already on the sinew of her still downcast bow.   
  
"Excellent," Dionysos says gliding from his seat. "This might be even better than the fish believers." He arranges his face and declares friendly, "Welcome, foreigners! Be our guests. I do hope your men don't only _water_ the earth with my good wine?"  
  
The man with the red boots grins and steps forward. "Thank you, gracious host. I'm quite sure they'll also water the earth with blood soon enough. And if you're the one responsible for the wine-- I'd really love to taste your grapes."   
  
The man with the hammer coughs like he accidentally swallowed his tongue prompting the old, grey man to clap his back fondly. "Well," the wanderer says with a glint in his eye. "Thank you. I'm sure we'll get along, right?"  
  
Dionysos breaks into a broad smile while the others can only nod haltingly. "Of course," he says. "Let me show you around."

**Author's Note:**

> Since his pregnancy [Loki is just very fond of grapes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16008140).
> 
> Also, the Varangian Guard, guys. I especially like the [Piraeus Lion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piraeus_Lion). :D


End file.
